


Swelter

by Dangerousnotbroken



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Coming Untouched, Human!Castiel - Freeform, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Sexual Tension, Shameless Smut, Smut, Top!Cas, alt canon i guess, bottom!Dean, cas is such a shit, dean winchester's poor communication skills, like a lot of sexual tension, texas heatwave, wasted beer
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-21
Updated: 2015-07-21
Packaged: 2018-04-10 11:00:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,177
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4389230
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dangerousnotbroken/pseuds/Dangerousnotbroken
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Small-town Texas in the middle of a heat wave isn't Dean's idea of a good time. It's not exactly Cas' either.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Swelter

**Author's Note:**

> Written in honour of the hottest summer I can personally ever recall in this particular neck of the woods. Thanks a bajillion to [ GraduateGraduate ](http://archiveofourown.org/users/GraduateGraduate/pseuds/GraduateGraduate) for beta-reading and also motivating me to actually finish writing something for the first time in months.

It’s too damn hot, that’s what Dean thinks. Texas in summer is never strictly comfortable and if it were up to Dean they’d avoid anywhere in the southern half of the country for the entire season, but apparently vamps don’t follow any particular sort of schedule, so it’s not up to Dean. Could probably have called another hunter and let them handle it. Looks like only a small nest really, something one or two decently competent hunters could wrangle without too much threat to life and limb. But a small nest, an easy hunt, well that’s also just about the right size of a fight to take a newly human, former angel of the lord along for. Castiel, in all his holy majesty, wholeheartedly believes he has what it takes to slay things that have a slayin’ coming their way even in his significantly weakened human form. It’s not that Dean doesn’t believe him, not strictly speaking. He just doesn’t wanna be the guy who didn’t say _hold your horses_ and let Cas run headlong into something that earned his newly mortal ass a hunter’s funeral.

So Texas in July it is, and the sticky heat melts the leather to the backs of his arms as the Impala rumbles on down the highway. If he’s gonna begrudge his baby anything, it’s the lack of the modern convenience that is air conditioning. He’d almost literally sell his soul for an artificially icy breeze to be gusting out of the dashboard vents right now instead of the same superheated air that makes the pavement in the distance shimmer. Rain would be nice, too. Even the hot summer rain that feels almost as warm as a shower would be a pleasant change. It’d keep the dust down for a little while, though the short summer storms that can randomly start up on a day like this wouldn’t rain long enough or hard enough to do much more than wet the top layer of dust and give a temporary reprieve. If it rained, Dean thinks he’d pull over and get out of the car, let the water soak him through to the skin, just for a few minutes of feeling slightly cooler than an oven.

Cas sighs again in the passenger seat, and Dean glances over at him just briefly before settling his eyes back on the road ahead. A few seconds is all he can afford. Angels don’t feel heat, Cas tells him, or the cold. They don’t get weary when the sun’s rays beat down with the fierce intensity of one of the worst heatwaves in nearly a decade. Their lips don’t get parched; their dark, messy hair doesn’t get matted to their foreheads. Sweat doesn’t bead on their brows. Angels don’t unbutton their shirts and let the lapels hang open so the wind gusting through the open window can do its feeble job of cooling their weary flesh. Humans that used to be angels though, they do all those things. They also apparently have no modesty.

It’s fortunate that there’s driving to be done, because having something he actually _needs_ to look at is the only thing keeping his eyes off of Cas’ bared chest. Cas doesn’t seem to realize how much of a distraction it is. He doesn’t seem to be aware of much at all except the heat. Empty water bottles litter the floor at his feet. He sighs once more and Dean thinks about pulling over at the next rest stop to buy him a fucking ice cream cone or something, only he’s not about to let Cas eat something that messy in the Impala and every minute they waste is one more minute before they get into town, get to a motel, and hopefully find some air conditioning.

“We’re almost there,” Dean promises. There’s nothing to be done for it, not right now, but that doesn’t mean he’s got no sympathy. It totally makes sense that Cas wants his shirt open in the heat like this. He just would prefer, all things considered, if that shirt weren’t open over the muscles that are usually hidden beneath Cas’ shirt and jacket and trench, or if the jeans he was wearing didn’t ride so low that Cas’ hip bones were clearly visible. It doesn’t really matter that Dean already knows what he looks like under all those clothes. Out of sight, out of mind, right? And Dean would say that he’s been doing a pretty great job of putting it right out of mind.. It’s quite an accomplishment to have one messy, fumbled night of totally unexpected but totally enjoyable sex with his best friend and then totally not get weird when that friend spends his daylight hours giving no indication it ever happened. It’s an extra huge accomplishment to keep pointedly not thinking about it when that friend is sprawled on your front seat with his shirt just hanging from his shoulders, covered in a sheen of sweat, chest heaving and eyes half open. You know, you _know_ it’s just inexperience dealing with the heat, but of course it looks like he just got fucked and nope. Dean’s totally not thinking about that. He’s got this. He’s totally got this.

It’s another hour before they pull into the parking lot of the motel, and Cas has barely moved the whole time. There were a few minutes where he took his shirt off completely, which could literally have killed Dean except he was navigating a slightly narrower and therefore more treacherous portion of highway, so obviously he had to keep his eyes on the road and not even glance in his periphery. And Cas realized pretty quickly that the surface of the seat was even hotter than the shirt, and the sticky feeling of leather on bare skin is super unpleasant at pretty much all times, so he put it back on before Dean could have a heart attack. He’s stopped sighing at regular intervals but he’s also taken on this look like he blames Dean personally for the suffering he’s currently enduring, so it’s probably not the win it feels like. Still, whether the end of the journey means salvation or not is entirely irrelevant because the journey _is_ over, and Dean cuts the engine and hops out of the car as fast as he can be bothered to move. The sun still oppresses everything it touches even though it’s well on its afternoon descent towards the horizon, and the pavement shimmers in the heat.Dean can still find reprieve in the knowledge that soon they’ll be in a room and able to strip out clothing that clings with perspiration. Dean longs to stand in the bathtub and let cold water run over his skin until his fingers prune and he starts to shiver. It’ll take the edge off the heat, sure, but it will also be a _cold shower_. If he can’t chase the thoughts of Cas away completely, he can at least utilize the oldest trick in the book to try to make it easier to pretend it’s not affecting him physically.

Dean doesn’t even care that the girl at the front desk, a flighty little thing who can hardly have graduated high school by Dean’s estimation, offers them a single. It’s too much effort at this point in time to even think about asking Cas if he wants his own bed especially because that seems dangerously close to asking if Cas has a mind to repeat their previous nocturnal activities and that seems _way_ more uncomfortable than sleeping on a small sliver of a shared bed. Doesn’t mean he misses the shy smile that flashes across her face as her eyes dart between Dean and Cas, still barely wearing his shirt as he slouches in the lobby. Maybe if he weren’t so damn weary, Dean would take exception to the assumption that he’s… whatever it is she thinks is going on here. But he _is_ weary, and the AC in the lobby has only taken the barest edge off the exhaustion so he doesn’t fight it.

There’s an elevator, thank Cas’ absent father, and the ride up to the third floor is silent except for a weary groan when Dean heaves his duffel bag back on to his shoulder when it lurches to a stop. They trudge down the hallway without a word between them, pausing only briefly while Dean slides the keycard into the little slot in the door with far more force than is called for. Sure, there’s only one bed behind the door, but it’s a King, and as long as no one brings out a black light he can convince himself that the bright white sheets don’t hold any unpleasant surprises. The second his duffel hits the floor in the corner, Dean finds the decrepit air conditioner unit built into the window and cranks the thing to maximum chill. It rumbles to life, shuddering ominously as it starts to churn out icy air, and Dean doesn’t think he’s ever heard a more beautiful noise in his life. He could just stand here right in front of it and let the cold air buffet him until his body temperature resembles that of a human being again. But then he remembers the cold shower idea and the problem it could solve for him, and that wins out.

“I’m taking a shower,” he mutters as he brushes past Cas. Dean’s fingers linger for just a moment on Cas’ forearm and there’s nothing charged at all about the touch but there’s still no escaping the flood of memories that accompany the contact. Dean is immediately taken right back to the night they spent together a few weeks ago, after a few too many beers took inhibitions out of the equation and Dean let his libido make a decision his brain had struggled with for who only knows how long. Sense memory conjures up the taste of Cas’ skin, tinged with salt, as Dean let his tongue explore everything he laid eyes on; the feeling of hard muscle moving beneath Dean’s hands as they fumbled and gripped and teased; the sounds, breathy and needy and blissful sounds, coming from Cas’ lips as he gave himself over to Dean. He stands transfixed for much longer than it should have taken to step past his friend and then he notices Cas staring at him, eyes narrow, and realizes he’s been staring too. Dean shakes himself off and stalks off to the bathroom grumbling under his breath about how fucking stupid the entire thing is. If he had foresight, Dean would have grabbed a clean change of clothes from his bag before retreating to the bathroom but he does _not_ have foresight. He has an awkward boner for his best friend, and he has a complete lack of the stones required to start a conversation about the elephant in the motel room, and he has six hours to kill until it’s dark enough to go find these damned vampires.

The water is cold. Blessedly cold. Dean washes away the sweat of a day on the road and then stands under the spray for countless minutes while soap and dirt rinsesoff of his skin and the rampant heat in his veins evaporates. He’s barely even annoyed anymore by the time he steps out, dripping onto the bath mat. His mood would be even further improved by an ice cold beer and he’s pretty sure he saw a sign boasting cold beer and wine on the next corner up, so when he’s toweled off and stepping out of the bathroom, it’s with thoughts of throwing on jeans and heading over there before the magic of the cold shower can wear off. And he gets all of three steps out the door on that train of thought before he stops dead in his tracks, because Castiel is sprawled out on top of the maroon and green bedspread in nothing but his boxer briefs, limbs splayed out, eyes closed and sighing with contentment.

“Of all the things human beings have invented, I like air conditioning the most.” He breathes, and Dean can actually hear the way the smile changes his voice. It smooths out the edges and makes it warmer and softer, like honey over gravel instead of the jagged rocks and too much whiskey he sounds like when he’s in smiting mode. He stretches, sighing again, and Dean’s eyes rake over his body, watching the way the muscles move under his skin with each twist and turn, and the awkward boner he chased away with the icy cold shower threatens to come back in full force.

Cas sits up suddenly, swinging his legs over the side of the bed and humming. “When do we go find the nest?” he asks, making no move to dress himself.

“Not until dark,” Dean chokes out. He strides across the room to his duffel bag and busies himself selecting clothes. “I’m gonna go out and grab some beers. You want anything?” Anything at all to distract Dean from the nearly naked man on the bed behind him. Anything at all.

Cas waves a dismissive hand as Dean stands with a bundle of denim and flannel and turns back toward the bathroom. “Whatever,” he replies, flippant. Dean shrugs and heads into the bathroom to dress. When he comes out, Cas is still sitting on the bed in exactly the same spot he occupied previously, looking like he hasn’t moved a muscle since. “I think I’ll take a shower while you’re out,” Cas announces, and Dean ducks out of the motel room quickly before Cas can decide it’s totally appropriate to drop his shorts with Dean standing right there. Wouldn’t put it past the guy. No modesty whatsoever.

The heat hits Dean in the face like a brick wall. The hallways and lobby of the motel are air conditioned, although not as cold as their room currently is, but the air outside feels just as sticky-hot as it did half an hour ago. It’s even worse, actually, because Dean’s body had just started to get accustomed to not being roasted alive, and the contrast is now even more jarring. Beads of sweat pop up on his brow almost immediately. The liquor store he spotted on their way in is visible from the parking lot, just barely at the end of the block, but Dean drives anyway. There’s no way in hell he’s walking anywhere he doesn’t have to with the sun still threatening to light his skin on fire. He lingers at the coolers long after he’s decided what beer to get just to absorb some of the chill before venturing back outside, and sighs so loudly in relief when the cool air of the lobby envelops him again that the tiny front desk clerk snaps her eyes up from the computer screen with a startled look on her face. Dean just shoots her a weak smile and makes for the elevator.

Dean almost makes it to their room before the sign for the ice machine catches his eye. Ice. Yes. He drops the beer off in the room, noting that he can still hear the shower running, and tries not to think about Cas, naked and covered in soap, before grabbing the ice bucket off the counter and striding back out of the room. When he returns a few minutes later, he opens the door at the exact same time Cas opens the bathroom door. He’s dripping wet, still in the process of towelling off even as he walks out into the room, and aside from the towel he’s currently scrubbing across his hair, he’s completely naked. Cas notices Dean’s there. He has to. They make direct eye contact and Dean silently works his mouth trying to come up with an appropriate thing to say in this situation. His brain is no help. He’s asking it for excuses to leave the room or things he could say that would politely motivate Cas to put some pants on, but all his brain wants to supply in response is suggestions about where he should put his mouth first or really friendly reminders of what Cas sounds like when he’s letting lust do the talking. And then it just completely short circuits, leaving Dean gaping and wide eyed as Cas saunters through the room in his birthday suit.

Dean manages just enough forethought to put the ice bucket down before he drops it. He should put the beer in the fridge, too, this much is obvious, but right now he can’t really make that into a reality. Cas crosses the room casually, his wet feet quiet on the carpet. It appears for a moment that he’s making for his bag to grab a change of clothes, but he turns at the last second and flops backward on to the bed with a sigh. The towel drapes across his hips almost as an afterthought but it does nothing at all to hide the fact that cold shower or no, Cas’ cock has taken a definite interest in the situation. Dean swallows and tries to speak again, and is mostly pleased to find that he’s able to form basic sentences this time.

“You uh…” he starts, then takes a breath and tries again. “You gonna be putting pants on any time soon?” Cas turns his head just slightly and looks at Dean out of the corner of his eye, an eye that is most certainly carrying a hint of mischief.

“I hadn’t planned on it.” He replies, stretching again. Dean’s throat goes dry.

“Oh. Uh. Ok,” says Dean, the master conversationalist. He could insist. He could tell Cas that this sort of thing is totally not appropriate and demand that Cas put some pants on and show some decency and stop messing around and Cas would probably even listen. He could totally do that. He might not even have to insist. He could maybe just ask nicely. So what’s stopping him?

“Come over here,” Cas murmurs. He reaches a hand out in a beckoning gesture, waving Dean closer without glancing in his direction.

Dean freezes. “No, I’m good over here,” he insists, only what he really wants to do is follow Cas’ lead, climb onto the bed, toss that towel out of the way and get his mouth on the dick that’s tenting the white cotton. It’s just that he knows if he _does_ go over there, he’ll do exactly that, and if Cas is gonna spend their days pretending that night never happened, well, Dean can too.

“Dean.” Cas says his name firmly, an admonition. “Come over here.” And it’s not a suggestion this time. Dean kicks his boots off and crosses the room, and Cas pats the mattress beside him so he climbs on top of the covers and sits as close to the edge as physically possible. Cas’ eye-roll is nearly audible. He grabs a fistful of Dean’s shirt and drags him over, toppling the hunter so he falls over Cas’ body, hands bracketing Cas’ head and stopping him just short of sprawling right across the blue-eyed man.

“I’m tired of being subtle,” Cas growls, his breath hot on Dean’s face. He smells like toothpaste and up close like this, Dean can almost imagine he sees the blue flare of long-gone grace in Cas’ bright eyes. “It requires patience and I am finding that I don’t have much of that. Dean I…I want…” he begins, but he finishes the sentence with his lips on Dean’s, and further words don’t really seem necessary. They could never convey exactly what Cas wants quite as well as the soft pressure of his mouth against Dean’s, the tongue that darts out to taste Dean’s mouth when his lips part just so. The way Cas’ hand has still not released its death grip on Dean’s tee-shirt.

When he finally loosens his hold enough to allow Dean to break the kiss they’re both panting and breathless. Cas’ lips are pink and slick with saliva. He looks positively delicious, debauched, and hungry for more. Dean doesn’t need to look in a mirror to know he looks the same; he can see it in the way Cas looks at him, predatory and full of desire. Dean gives himself another few breaths before diving back in. Last time, the time they never talked about, Cas’ technique had been nothing to write home about but his enthusiasm had more than made up for it. This time it feels like Cas catalogued every single kiss they shared and wrung every bit of knowledge he could out of their interactions. He’s no longer hesitant or awkward, save for the awkwardness that can be attributed to two people desperate to touch and kiss and feel every part of each other. He kisses like he’s on a personal mission to take Dean apart, to make him melt beneath his hands and beg for salvation before they even get naked.

Somewhere in the fever of their kisses, Dean lets himself be stripped nearly bare. At one point Cas fumbles with his belt buckle, and Dean breaks away from his lips only long enough to shimmy out of his jeans. When he drags his tee-shirt off, Cas traps his arms over his head and leaves hot, wet kisses across his collar bone and chest, down over the soft swell of his belly. Dean squirms and tries to pull Cas back up to his mouth, but instead finds himself guided back to lie on the bed with Cas latching teeth and lips onto one of his nipples, and he stops resisting. Splayed out in just his boxers, Dean lets out a soft groan of pleasure as Cas teases his nipple to a hard nub, then repeats the process on the other side. He bites just short of painful then laves over the abused nipple with his tongue, alternating rough and gentle, rough and gentle, and humming contentedly any time he manages to make Dean drop his stoicism and make any kind of noise.

“Cas….” Dean whines, reaching for whatever skin he can get his hands on, pressing his hip upward when he feels Cas’ dick press against his thigh. Cas grinds against him as his lips latch onto Dean’s throat, sucking a bruise he won’t care to hide. There’s something about letting Cas mark him, claim him as his own that makes Dean’s arousal flare white hot. He arches into the touch, hoping it says as well as words would that he wants this, wants to be claimed, wants to be taken. Cas leaves a trail of bite marks and sucking bruises down his throat and across his collar bone, and Dean feels like he’s been heard loud and clear.

Dean slides his hands down over the hard muscle of Cas’ back to grasp his hips, pulling him close so they can rut together. Even still in his boxers the friction is delicious, and Dean is content in the roll of their hips, the hard line of Cas’ cock pressed against his thigh, the weight of Cas grinding against his dick as they move together, writhing on the mattress. Cas seems happy with it too, for a time, but eventually he stops kissing Dean and lets lips and tongue tease lazily down Dean’s body before tugging at the waistband of his shorts. He nips at the skin he’s just exposed as he drags them down and Dean lifts his hips just enough to let Cas divest him of the last of his clothing. As soon as his dick is free, Cas drags his tongue up it from root to tip, then wraps his lips around the head. Cas is more skilled here now, too. He uses his tongue to tease and his hand to work what his mouth can’t take, and he’s clearly enjoying it just as much as Dean does. The low groan that forms in his throat sends shivers up Dean’s spine, and he hollows his cheeks out and sucks.

Dean’s distracted by the wet heat that envelops his dick, so he doesn’t recognize the sound of a lube bottle opening when he hears it, but the press of a cold, slick finger between his cheeks is unmistakeable. He flinches at the first touch but Cas is so gentle, almost teasing as he circles Dean’s hole that he soon relaxes and Cas starts to work him open. He’s slow and careful. Dean could probably take a second finger long before Cas sees fit to give him one and even after he’s worked up to four, whimpering and letting out breathy little moans, Cas doesn’t stop. His mouth is on Dean’s dick and he grazes his prostate almost accidentally every few strokes, and Dean just rocks back and tries to take Cas deeper because it’s not enough. Never enough.

“Please,” he breathes, barely above a whisper. “Cas please.” Cas ignores him, using the hand that isn’t currently stretching Dean open to fondle his balls even as a trickle of saliva runs down the length of his cock. Dean’s going to come soon if Cas doesn’t hurry up, but he’s well beyond the point of being able to articulate that. “Please,” he repeats. “I need…”

Finally Cas takes pity on him, ceasing the endless tease and letting Dean’s cock slip from his mouth. He slicks his dick up with more lube and lines up with Dean’s ready hole, but instead of sliding home he teases the rim with his head. Dean rocks his hips back as well as he can trying to take Cas in and he almost succeeds, but the bastard grabs his legs and holds him steady. Dean can squirm all he want, but Cas is in control here. When he does finally push in, long and slow, Dean gasps, clutching at the sheets. He’ll never get over the amazing fullness of it, never get over how close he feels to Cas when he slides in up to the hilt. Cas’ thighs are nestled right up against Dean’s ass, his legs held aloft by Cas’ strong hands, and when he starts to move he leans over and folds Dean almost in half. Cas fucks into Dean with reckless abandon. He drives a hard pace right from the start, balls slapping against Dean’s ass, and it feels so good that Dean doesn’t even try to stop the litany of curses and moans streaming from his lips.

Dean’s already close to orgasm. Cas teased him so long that it’s only a matter of time before he can’t hold out any longer. And Cas just rides him hard and fast and deep, driving him closer and closer to the edge, and he loves every second of it. He lets himself moan like a whore, urging Cas on, and works a hand between them to stroke his aching cock.

“No,” Cas grunts. Dean lets go and watches as Cas sits back on his heels, manhandling Dean as he goes. His legs fall to either side of Cas’ thighs and Cas grabs him by the hips, pulling him back onto his cock with each thrust. The change in angle takes him deeper and Dean cries out at the attack on his prostate. “I want to see you come,” Cas tells him, voice low and wrecked. “I want to watch you come just like this,” he growls.

Dean has never heard Cas speak like this, and it’s fucking hot. He doesn’t try to reach for his cock again, instead clutching at Cas’ forearms where they strain with the effort of holding Dean’s hips. His back arches and his hips drive back against Cas, and their bodies move with hunger and unison. Even without friction on his cock Dean’s orgasm looms just out of reach, growing closer with each thrust that tags his prostate, and suddenly he’s coming hot and messy over his own belly. Dean’s mouth hangs open, a silent howl of overwhelming pleasure as Cas continues to fuck him. Limbs rigid and eyes wide, the pleasure continues to wash over him even after he’s finished spending his release, and still Cas doesn’t stop. Dean’s reduced to fucked-out bliss, loose limbed now in the afterglow, and he’s bordering on oversensitive. A constant stream of inarticulate grunts, soft little “uh uh uh uh” noises accompany each thrust, Dean’s only response to the stimulation that borders on painful. Cas shows no sign of slowing until the second he goes rigid and the cruel rhythm of his hips falters.

“Dean!” he groans out. There’s one, two, three more thrusts and Dean groans along with him, and then Cas collapses onto the bedspread, chest heaving with every laboured exhausted breath. They both stare at the ceiling for long minutes afterwards and eventually after their breathing has returned to normal and the sweat on their skin starts to evaporate in the artificially chilled air of the room, Castiel breaks the silence.

“I sincerely hope,” he says, and the accusation is clear in his voice as he strides naked and barefoot to grab two beers out of the six-pack, “that you will learn to be more perceptive of my seduction attempts in future. I will not enjoy having to be quite so heavy-handed every time I wish to lie with you.”

Dean is immediately glad he doesn’t actually have his beer yet, or he’d be spraying a mouthful of it across the room. “What? You’re the one who spent the last two weeks pretending like nothing happened. That reads pretty solidly as _this was a mistake lets never talk about it again_ if you ask me.”

“Yes,” Cas drones, eyes rolling, “because you’re usually so upfront about your feelings, obviously there was every clear opportunity to discuss things in the daylight. And certainly it would have been rather convenient to bring it up with your brother around.” Dean takes the beer he offers and meets his eyes defiantly, but truth be told, Cas is totally right.

“Oh.” Dean says. He twists the top off his beer and fiddles with it to buy time while he tries to think of something to say that isn’t completely idiotic. He comes up totally blank.

“If you’re not amenable you should say so,” Cas continues, exasperated. “I would prefer to know if my advances are unwelcome.” Dean stares at Cas, again at a total loss for words, and finally sets his beer down on the nightstand.

“Why don’t you get your ass back in this bed and I’ll show you how fucking amenable I am,” Dean challenges, and Cas is quick to comply. Their beers sit abandoned on the nightstand and grow warmer by the minute, and they don’t spend nearly as long hunting for Vampires as they’ll eventually tell Sam they did, but at least Dean knows that next time he wants to reach out and put his hands on Cas (or his mouth, for that matter) all he has to do is say so.


End file.
